


To each their own

by RucyL



Series: The fine adventures of Alice Sycamore [2]
Category: Layton Kyouju Series | Professor Layton Series
Genre: AU, Azran Legacy Spoilers, Gen, Post-Azran Legacy, Post-Canon Fix-It, drownout2020
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-15
Updated: 2020-07-15
Packaged: 2021-03-05 03:08:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,708
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25267369
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RucyL/pseuds/RucyL
Summary: Having wasted a fortune in miracles and huge robots, Desmond Sycamore has to get back to a work he hates. Luckily for him, help comes from an unexpected place.
Relationships: Desmond Sycamore & Desmond Sycamore's Daughter
Series: The fine adventures of Alice Sycamore [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1831636
Comments: 4
Kudos: 7





	To each their own

Technically, professor Desmond Sycamore hated the Azran with all his heart. Yeah, they had helped to revive his daughter, but they had been a key piece in her death and in everything terrible that had ever happened to him, so he was not fond.

However, in practice, he was still the world's number one expert on Azran texts. Now, after all was said and done, he had new bills to pay, so even if he hated it with every fiber of his being, he had to get to work. At times like this, almost drowned in commissions, he often wished he hadn't hired that many people for the Monted'or miracles.

Professor Sycamore was using the table in the main room of the Bostonius for his research. The desk in his office had become too small for the task a few hours before, so he had moved the dozens of photographs and hundreds of papers to the centre of the ship. Most of them were his personal notes, a sort of massive Azran dictionary scribbled in indecipherable handwriting. He had vowed he'd make a book out of them someday, but so far the day had not yet come.

Apart from his notes, there were the translations for the artifacts shown in the photographs. He had been able to interpret most of them without the need of the other documents, but the last one was resisting. It was undoubtedly Azran writing, but the alphabet only bore a slight resemblance to one of the two he was used to.

One of the greatest things about being the best in his field was that, hypothetically, he could make up the meaning and no one would dare to correct him. Nevertheless, his pride as archaeologist —the professor had been surprised to discover he still had some— forbid him from doing so. He continued struggling, noting down every and each one of the never-seen-before symbols.

One of the worst things about being the best was that he couldn't ask anyone for help. What would they know about cursive or dialects or whatever the hell the photo was, if they couldn't even translate the verb "remember" correctly?

The professor frowned at the annoying image, fiddling with his fountain pen, deep in thought.

Layton had gotten it right, the verb "remember". Sycamore didn't know if he had seen it before or had just deduced what "seeing past with heart and mind" meant in situ, but he had been impressed. Probably he would discover what the writing in the picture meant, too, if given the chance. But Desmond wasn't in the position to ask Layton even for the time, let alone a professional favor.

He was considering giving up when a shout distracted him.

"Dad!"

A door opened wide and Alice shot down the stairs.

"Dad! Dad! Dad! Dad!" she called at each step.

"Yes, sweetie?" he smiled.

She brandished a book that he recalled seeing before but couldn't quite place.

"What does 'Strider' mean?" Alice opened the tome and pointed at a certain paragraph, trying to provide the always needed context.

Her dad had to take off his glasses to be able to read the sentence.

"The verb 'to stride' means to walk with fast, long steps," he explained calmly. He suddenly felt like back when he lectured, a really nostalgic emotion. "Someone called 'Strider' must be someone who strides a lot, that is, walks with long steps."

"Oh, I see," she exclaimed. She quickly read the sentence again before beaming a smile. "It makes sense! Thanks a lot."

"You're very welcome."

The girl looked ready to run up the stairs again, but she changed her mind in the last instant. She sat on the sofa besides him, book still open in her lap, like she so often had used to do, all those years back.

"What are you doing, dad?"

"I'm working, sweetie. All the museums had been waiting years for a competent Azran translator and now want their relics interpreted." He handed her the last image as an example. She, too, frowned and squinted at the picture.

Then, she giggled and turned it upside down. With a satisfied look, she returned it to Desmond.

"You better tell them to place that rock the right way up, then," she said. Her dad was barely listening. He was instead staring in disbelief at the image that swiftly decoded in his mind. Of course he wouldn't think of turning it upside down. He had apparently learned nothing from Ambrosia's songs. Layton would've noticed; he was glad he couldn't ask him. Sycamore sighted and turned to his daughter.

"My girl, you're a genius!" The professor kissed her forehead before grabbing his pen and starting to jot down the words he recognized at first glance.

"I do my best!" Her face reddened while she grinned.

She peeked over his shoulder, reading his scratches on the sheet of paper. For a moment, they only heard the wind against the glass, the noise being a constant reminder that their lives were always in Raymond's hands.

Soon, Alice spoke again.

"That's 'to'," she pointed. "Laws of living _to_ time, not living _at_ time."

The professor stared back at her. Sometimes he completely forgot that Alice was also Aurora, emissary of the Azran. It should have been a difficult thing to do, given that Alice inhabited the body which had belonged to the other girl, but her childish demeanour and her darkening and short hair managed to fool him if he wasn't thinking too hard about the subject.

"But that doesn't make sense."

"But it's what it says," she argued. Alice followed line with her finger as he spoke. " _Suan taira na kalein_. Na means 'for' or 'to'."

"Suan taira na... what?" The professor wrote down the words phonetically, both marveled at having the pronunciation of such ancient texts and dazed that the one pronouncing them was his own daughter.

"Kalein," she replied, her voice proud. "Kalein means time. Or sometimes it means the future. Or..."

"Laws of living forever," the professor interrupted. When they heard it out loud, they both knew it was the correct translation. Alice took a last look at the picture and smiled.

"Ah, yes! Now that makes sense with the rest!" She happily returned to her book, seemingly satisfied with her job done.

Thus, Sycamore was left alone on his job once more. Without Alice's help he advanced at a much moderate pace, but he couldn't ask his somewhere-between-eight-and-sixteen year old daughter to do his work for him. It was his duty as a parent and he was —no matter how he despised the Azran— happy to do it for Alice.

The girl continued reading, occasionally pulling faces or quietly gasping at her book. She had her feet up on the sofa but her slippers remained on the floor, so her father didn't complain. Stray hair bangs hanged in front of her eyes, too short for holding behind an ear. Alice had insisted on getting a haircut som months ago, but her father had begged her to wait they could confirm her hair would grow; nothing was certain when the girl had been a automaton. Earlier that week, Raymond had measured her long blonde curls once more, and greenlighted the process, much to her delight. And now she was precious in the way little girls are when they're happy. He would do anything and everything —again— to protect his daughter.

"I'm done with the chapter!" Alice announced cheerfully, retrieving her slippers. "Are you done yet?"

Her father hurriedly brandished his fountain pen to ultimate the notes, a grin shining across his face.

"Almost—" he mumbled. He finished the last line with a few scribbles and theatrically put down the pen. "And it is done!"

"Let me see!"

The professor passed her the paper sheet to his daughter, and she began reading out loud. By the look on her face, she found her father's handwritting a bit more difficult to translate than the Azran relics.

" 'Laws of living forever. The first: It is forbidden to stride-time,' " she smiled at her recently learned word, " 'as it is of oneself. The second: Youngs and knowledge go the first, as those are the roots. The third: Living forevers lose family laws'... I don't get it."

"Do you want to hear the explanation? It's a bit long," her father asked, looking amused. She shrugged and gave back the paper.

"The second law is the most obvious: Young people, who have still a lot to live, and intellectuals, who guard the knowledge and the culture, have priority when asking for extended life spans."

"Hum... So that's why they chose me to be in the ice, then? I was young and clever."

"Yes, you're a genius, my girl!" She showed a wide smile.

"What's the next? What are 'family laws'?"

"I'm guessing it refers to inheritances. Imagine if you lived more than all your kind... You'd be getting inheritances from your family for generations!"

"I see!" She then eyed her book, obviously thinking about inheritances in whatever fantasy world she was immersed in.

"And the first law it's the most important!" he exclaimed. Alice reluctantly drove her gaze from the book to her dad again. She tilted her head, silently asking. "What do you think 'stride-time' means?"

"Stride-time? Hum... Like, walking fast through time? Accelerating time?" Her dad could almost see the bubble light up in her head when it did. "Ah! Time traveling!"

"Yes! The Azran could time travel!" he asserted. "They could time travel and they forbid it because it was 'of oneself'. That is, subjective. Or, in our words... it was relative!" he gestured like he had just solved a complicated puzzle.

"I'm lost again..." Alice shook her head.

"It's a bit complicated, sweetie, but just know this: if I manage to prove the Azran knew about the theory of relativity, I'll be done forever with this ridiculous translating commissions," he stated, satisfied.

"Ehh... but translating is fun," she pouted. Her dad adjusted his glasses.

"I prefer lecturing."

"Well, I prefer reading." Saying this, she opened once more the book in her lap.

Her father grinned, already wielding the fountain pen again.

"You know what they say, Alice: _To each, their own._ "


End file.
